


Flesh and Bone

by crinklefries



Series: All These Things I've Done [2]
Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crinklefries/pseuds/crinklefries
Summary: The princeling of the underworld makes it to the surface. Then, Death approaches.
Relationships: Thanatos/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Series: All These Things I've Done [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2102379
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83





	Flesh and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> If I can (in)famously get banned from Twitter for bullying Greek God and Fictional Video Game Character Theseus, then I guess I might as well attempt to write some Hades fanfiction to honor the whole affair. The last video game I played was the SIMS in college and now look at me. 
> 
> Thank you to all of the h*rny Hades fanartists for making me go feral for this ship.

**i. where the shadow ends | for @tallihoozoo **

_There’s a darkness up ahead /_   
_I will see you, where the shadow ends_

*

Death approaches.

It’s a familiar motion now, a light green shimmer, the air cooling degree by degree. A sharp tug in the center of his stomach and the soft hairs standing up at the back of his neck. He doesn’t see him so much as he feels him—an old, almost comfortable motion, the way his skin hums, and his body lists to the side, the warmth of expectation pooling in his stomach, in the cavity of his chest. It’s always been like this, since they were children, two boys tucked together under a thick-knit blanket, their foreheads pressed together, Thanatos’s long fingers curled into Zagreus’s nightshirt, Zagreus’s bright, hot feet pressed to his best friend’s cool ankles.

Nyx didn’t stop them, probably wouldn’t have known how, because the young prince had found more than one way to break out of his room, and every time Achilles sighed and scooped him up from the young deathling’s room to deposit him back into his own bed, it never really took. It was only a matter of a very short period of time before he scrambled out from under his own blankets and coaxed Cerberus into letting him climb onto his back so that he could open a window, scale the terrace, and climb in through his best friend’s window again.

The young princeling was, they said, terribly willful. (That was code for _a handful_.)

Luckily, Thanatos’s twin brother was a deep sleeper and anyway, Hypnos thought it was more trouble than it was worth to complain that there were only two in the bunk bed to start off the night and always three at the end. He had tried, once, and Zagreus had urged Cerberus to chase him down the hall in revenge. Hypnos slept through anything, anyway. It was just as well.

It’s not that they didn’t try.

Nyx tried and Achilles tried and once, even, Hades—tired of the ruckus at bedtime in his house of hell—tried, seeking to put the fear of the Styx into his young, willful (onerous) son, but that hadn’t helped either. It wasn’t any of their faults, really. Zagreus wanted what Zagreus wanted and what Zagreus wanted was to climb up the ladder to the top bunk, shove Thanatos toward the wall, and dig his small nose into the small of Thanatos’s small back.

Also, Cerberus loved Zagreus, so any attempt at quelling the little princeling’s rebellion, was, well, futile at best and more than one hellhound bite at worst.

Anyway, Death approaches.

Zagreus breathes in the cool air of the mortal world. It’s different here than it is in the underrealm, the air full of light, a lungful not likely to spark burning embers in the deep of his lungs. The warm afternoon sunlight filters in through the greens of leaves Zagreus has slowly come used to. There’s snow on the ground and snow in the air and when Zagreus closes his eyes and sucks in a mouth full of fresh, clean, living air, there’s snow in his lungs.

It should be terrible, for the princeling son of the God of the Underworld, but he is also the son of the Goddess of Growth, of Spring, the grandson of Winter herself. It pools in Zagreus, all of his bloodlines—the ash of death and the cold of winter, green vines crawing through his veins, lightning sparking along the ridges of his spine and the ocean licking at the tips of his fingers. He is the son—the grandson, the nephew—of so many conflicting crossroads, it boils in his flesh, everything and nothing. Achilles says he’s the God of Blood, which means he belongs everywhere. But he is also the foster son of Death, meaning he is welcome nowhere.

Still, what it means is that the snow feels light under his burning feet, the pale sunlight of a Grecian morning catching in his glowing laurels.

“Zagreus,” Death says.

Zagreus stands at the edge of a cliff overlooking a sea. It isn’t a river of blood, not the deep red of the Styx, but no less bright for it. He doesn’t know what it’s called, but Poseidon’s blessing is still deep within his blood, so he feels the way it buffets against the shore, the push and pull of the restless tide.

“I thought—what was it,” Zagreus muses out loud. “There is no escape?”

Death says nothing, for a moment. Then, “Your father’s security needs some fortifying.”

Zagreus smiles.

He hasn’t turned yet, but there’s no strong reason to do so. It doesn’t matter where he catches him—on the balcony of the House, or in Persephone’s garden, his bedchamber or the top bunk of a small bunk meant only for two twin boys of Death Incarnate—Thanatos always waits for Zagreus to catch him.

“Did you also have to fight through four levels of Hell?” Zagreus asks his old friend.

Thanatos says nothing for a moment and then releases a soft huff of laughter. Something stirs in Zagreus, a soft shift in his chest. Thanatos laughs so little.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Thanatos says. “I have a Hell pass.”

Zagreus, in turn, lets out a huff of laughter.

“That seems unfair,” he says. “Do you know how many times I’ve been poisoned in the Satyr chambers? Are you telling me you’ve never had to drink that foul elixir?”

“You cannot poison Death, Zag,” Thanatos says. “Did you pay no attention during our lessons?”

That makes Zagreus grin. This time he turns, just enough to face him.

“No,” he says. “Not for a second.”

His best friend sighs. It’s forced out of him begrudgingly, not with any real consternation—the time for consternation was surely many years of darkness-cursed childhood plots and scrapes ago—but with the resignation of someone who has spent his entire life knowing one person entirely too well.

One person whose entire existence is a force of nature.

“You didn’t call on me,” Thanatos says.

The thing about Thanatos that he refuses to admit is that he, Death, would rather die than verbalize a single, clear sentiment out loud. It’s not as though he’s had very many good examples in his life of what open communication might be like, but the fact stands that he will never tell Zagreus outright that he is upset, but he will directly accuse him of the thing that is upsetting him.

He’s not usually wrong—Zagreus does so many things that potentially could and usually do upset—so it’s really a matter of Zagreus intuiting that the thing he is being accused of has also hurt the feelings of the person accusing him.

This is all to say that Thanatos’s expression is perfectly blank. His voice is measured, his shoulders set neutrally. It is a simple statement.

It is an accusation.

Thanatos is sulking.

Zagreus tries not to smile.

“I didn’t need to,” he says. “I had it quite handled, Than.”

Thanatos says nothing for a moment.

“I see,” he says.

Oh for Hell’s sake.

“I’m getting stronger,” Zagreus says. “You should be proud of me.”

He smiles, running a hand through his dark, dirty hair. Elysium is always a nice respite from the burning heat and soot of Asphodel, but the Satyr chambers always leave him covered in intolerable grime. He feels disgusting. He wonders if the mortal sea would be a good place for a godling to wash off.

“I see that,” Thanatos says. “You keep escaping.”

Zagreus’s smile warms. Thanatos’s expression flickers.

“I cannot seem to catch you anymore.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Zagreus asks. “On the surface?”

 _To catch me?_ he leaves unsaid.

Thanatos frowns. The afternoon sun settles warmly against his cool features. Thanatos is all evening; lean limbs and sharp lines, skin the color of twilight, and eyes as golden as the setting sun. His silver hair catches on the cool breeze, brushing against high cheekbones Zagreus has spent more than one (chaste) evening mapping with his fingertips.

Zagreus wishes he could do so now; reach out and press his palm to his best friend’s jaw. Catch the frown on his lips, trace the shape of them with the pad of his calloused thumb.

He wishes he could capture him like this; the son of Death, Death himself, caught in the setting sun of the living world.

“I wanted to make sure you were alive,” Thanatos says, with a familiar scowl. “Idiot.”

That makes Zagreus laugh.

“Seriously?” he says. “You?”

“I have nothing to do with _your_ death,” Thanatos says. There’s a pretty blush warming his twilight skin, an embarrassed scowl wrinkling his usually unruffled features.

“Shame,” Zagreus says, wryly. “If I have to die, I want it to be by your hands.”

Thanatos’s golden eyes widen; he takes in a sharp breath.

“What are you saying?” he says sharply. “You’re speaking nonsense.”

“No,” Zagreus says. He smiles, a crooked little thing at the corners of his lips, rolls his stiff shoulders. “Promise me.”

Thanatos blinks rapidly.

“Promise you? Promise you what?”

Zagreus presses a hand to the hilt of his sword, Arthur. His father’s blood coats the blade.

“When I die,” he says. “Forever. For good. The death of all Gods and Godlings. I want it to be you, Than.”

Thanatos looks shocked. Surprise splashes across his face, and then sadness, and then—anger.

“No,” he says. He makes a jerking movement. “Don’t ask that of me.”

“No one else,” Zagreus insists. Then, “I want only you.”

Zagreus is as straightforward as they come. He’s the son of Hades, so he had never had much of a taste of subtlety and such things are above Nyx’s unique child-rearing skill sets. Perhaps, if Persephone had stayed to raise him, but—no, what Zagreus wants, Zagreus gets. Mostly because what Zagreus wants, Zagreus says out loud. Consequences be damned.

And what Zagreus wants—what he has always, terribly wanted is—

“You’re horrible,” Thanatos says. His cheeks are glowing, his arms crossed at his half-bare chest. “To tease me like this.”

Zagreus nearly laughs.

He doesn’t, because Thanatos is sulking and his face is tinged pink and here—on the surface, in the setting sun of the mortal world, everything feels as soft as the fallen snow. Thanatos is beautiful. His best friend is so damn cute.

Zagreus’s chest warms. His smile softens, his fingertips finding their way to Thanatos’s soft, white hair.

“What are you doing?” Thanatos says. “Zagreus, stop this.”

Zagreus grins.

His fingers twist into Thanatos’s hair and he tugs lightly on the ends.

“Remember when your hair was longer?” he says instead.

Thanatos frowns.

“Yes,” he says. Then, almost self conscious, “Do you not like it cut?”

It should not matter, what Zagreus likes or does not like. But it does. It always has. The thing about Zagreus is that he is straightforward and the thing about Thanatos is that he isn’t, but the two of them have always made a world entirely of and for themselves. Who should matter to Thanatos more than his best friend? It is not something Zagreus has ever thought to question.

It doesn’t matter, because he has never needed to.

“No,” Zagreus says, with a small smile. “I love it.”

Thanatos scowls, blushing again.

“But I loved your long hair too,” he says. “I’ve loved all of your hairstyles.”

“Zagreus,” Thanatos warns.

“And I’ve loved all of your grey hoods,” Zagreus continues. “And your gold piercings. Your gold necklaces.” Fingertips brushing Thanatos’s golden arm cuff. “Your gold cuffs.”

Thanatos sucks in a breath.

“You gave that to me,” he says. He goes for heat and finds only warmth. Unhidden affection. “You fool.”

Zagreus grins wider.

“I know what you like, Than,” he says.

Thanatos isn’t able to maintain his frown. Instead, he looks cautious—his golden eyes cautious, his careful, soft breathing, cautious.

“What are you doing?” Thanatos says.

“I know what I like too,” Zagreus replies.

Thanatos watches him closely for a moment. Zagreus’s fingers still in his hair, one hand on Thanatos’s arm.

Thanatos, his chest nearly heaving.

Thanatos, with short, soft, aching breaths.

“You want to kiss me,” Zagreus sing-songs softly, teasingly. “You want to kiss me so bad.”

Thanatos’s blush deepens. He’s so embarrassed, he’s angry. He’s so angry, he—well, he _glows_. He’s glowing. It’s beautiful. He’s incandescent.

The colors around them deepen—the sun setting behind them, the pastel colors of the mortal world leeching from the warm, soft peaches and pinks of the afternoon to the cool, dark colors of twilight.

Soon, the Styx will take him.

It has relented only because he is here, not alone, but with Death itself.

Death approaches.

Thanatos takes in a shaky breath.

Then he says, “Maybe I do.”

It’s Zagreus’s turn to be surprised.

His eyes—one green, one red—one from his father, to see Death, and the other from his mother, to see life—widen.

“What?” he says, sucking in a breath.

“What?” Thanatos says, his mouth curving up into a smirk. “Do you think you are the only one who can be shocking?”

“Why, you—” Zagreus splutters and Thanatos laughs—bright and clear.

Zagreus blushes, his heart clattering in his chest, his cheeks warm, the back of his neck heating, and Death laughs.

“Mean,” Zagreus whines and Death shakes his head. Unhidden affection.

Then Death wraps cool fingers around Zagreus’s jaw. Death’s nose brushs’s Zagreus’s nose.

“If you tell Hypnos,” Thanatos says. “I will deny everything.”

“I don’t even know who Hypnos is,” Zagreus breathes out, eyes widening. “Hypnos who?”

Thanatos laughs again, his soft voice like the twinkling of evening stars.

When Death kisses him, he tastes like freshly fallen snow and the deep, midnight blue of the evening.

When Death kisses him, it feels like the flames of Asphodel licking against his bare skin and his fingers trailing the soft petals of glowing night-flowers in his mother’s garden.

When Death kisses Zagreus, it reminds him of shimmying up a small ladder to the top bunk, so that he could wrap his small fingers around the small waist of his best friend in the whole underworld and fall fast and peacefully asleep.

*

**Author's Note:**

> \+ one-shot title based on [Where the Shadow Ends](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMpyAOZzlb0) by BANNERS
> 
> As ever, I can be found on Twitter at [@spacerenegaydes](https://twitter.com/spacerenegaydes)! ♥

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [terribly willful](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773807) by [deisderium art (Deisderium)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/deisderium%20art)




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